


On the Tip of my Tongue

by brazenedMinstrel



Series: Within my Grasp [1]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Cooking, Coping, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Possession, Sylvanas has emotions ooooh, a lot of it, but in a healthy way, with stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 21:10:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17393765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brazenedMinstrel/pseuds/brazenedMinstrel
Summary: Part 1 of Within my Grasp! Please read the other parts to completely follow the story!Prompt by no-style-in-particular/dreamsofjoyfulbunnies on tumblr:Jaina prepares Sylvanas’s favorite dish and as she takes the first bite, tears drip down her cheeks, sharing the memories of the Banshee Queen’s past.Basically I thought it was a cute idea and then the fic ended up being much longer than I had anticipated. Also it's not beta read, so apologies for any spelling mistakes and/or repeated words in sentences or something like that.





	On the Tip of my Tongue

It had begun as an innocent question. That alone was not special, it was a habit of Jaina’s that even the most stern gaze of the Banshee Queen could not erase. In her studying times, she had learnt to ask questions, endlessly so. And with Sylvanas, she still did, even though she knew better than to expect and answer. 

 

‘Did you ever have a favourite meal?’ she had asked, carelessly, without looking up from her book. 

 

Sylvanas had remained motionless for a moment, her quill hovering above a parchment scroll. The scratching of the tip on the surface continued shortly after. With it came her reply: ‘Why does this interest you, Jaina?’ 

 

She was avoiding the answer. Jaina felt like she was prying, even with such a small question. It was an effect that Sylvanas’ voice sometimes had on her. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you… I was merely curious. I have an-’ 

 

‘And so quickly your curiosity fades.’ Sylvanas wrote further, the sound of quill on the parchment never stopping. Her left ear twitched while she tapped her nails sharply against the desk. ‘But do go on. Provide me with some distraction, this letter is grating to write. I must make sure not to insult the little lion, however hard that may be.’ 

 

‘You spoke about possession once, when we were reminiscing about our lives just after our union,’ Jaina begins. 

 

‘Had I known that it interested you so, I hadn’t started about it.’ 

 

Disrupting the flow of conversation, making snide comments. Jaina knew Sylvanas well enough to notice the signs of a painful subject. ‘I have an idea, considering the food, and I thought that maybe… since you said that you can adapt to the senses of who you possess, I could help you taste once more.’ 

 

Once again, Sylvanas freezes behind her desk. Her hand trembles, just slightly. The shadow of the quill wavers in the fireplaces’ light.  ‘I will not possess an insubordinate mongrel so you can have your fun, Proudmoore,’ she snaps. 

 

‘I wasn’t suggesting that you possess just anybody.’ Jaina stands from her chair and prepares to walk to her partner’s desk. The Dark Lady stops her in her tracks:

 

‘Leave,’ she says with such venom in her voice that Jaina’s hairs bristled. 

 

‘Sylvanas, I didn’t mean to upse-’ 

 

‘I said, leave.’ The elf very nearly raised her voice, yet kept it leveled. ‘Make me drop one more smear of ink onto this letter and I will make you leave myself.’ 

 

Her voice sounds hard, but what little Jaina could see from her features betrayed more distress than anger. Ears pressed flatly against her neck, brow furrowed, perhaps a single unnecessary breath. ‘I’m sorry, Sylvanas, honestly,’ she murmurs, before walking to the heavy doors separating their quarters. While they had shared bedroom, Sylvanas rarely rested, and often she stayed out of the bedroom throughout the night. Jaina had all the more time to mull over her seemingly bright idea. Ask Sylvanas what her favourite meal was, prepare it, have her partner possess her, let her taste for the first time in ages. The layout was simple enough. Yet she hadn’t taken Sylvanas’ sheer unwillingness to share nearly anything beyond what was strictly necessary for their partnership into account. 

 

Perhaps it had been the wrong moment to ask. But in between the councils they attended, the preparations on the warfronts and the languid walks in both Horde and Alliance cities to show that they truly were together, was there ever a right moment? Guilt nags on the edge of Jaina’s consciousness. It wasn’t in her right to bring up bad memories, yet she wanted Sylvanas to lean how to cope with them. Her restless mind kept her awake until the soft click of the doorknob being lowered shook her out of her ponderings. A slim beam of light fell over the bed. Sylvanas’ silhouette followed closely behind. 

 

‘You are awake,’ she observes. What little emotion she previously expressed had drained from her voice completely. 

 

Jaina does not answer immediately. She sighs quietly and doubted for a while. More apologies? Should she try to speak about her plan? Could her lover piece the bits together? 

 

The bed dipped down on her side as Sylvanas sits down in the space between Jaina’s drawn up knees and her chest. ‘You had something in mind, no? Something involving a power I am cursed with. Must I make you aware of just how horrid it makes me appear?’ 

 

‘I wasn’t thinking about anything that involves… going outside.’ Jaina carefully sneaks an arm out from underneath the blankets to grasp Sylvanas’ hand with. She touches cold metal and leather. The elf was still dressed, and thus not likely to stay for long. 

 

‘Then who agreed to have their will be taken?’ 

 

‘No one did. Just me… and you, if you are willing.’ Jaina traced every segment of the metal claws on Sylvanas’ gloves, briefly mesmerized by the way the sparse light reflected on it. A shadow fell over her face. Sylvanas had dipped her head, her red eyes searching for Jaina’s. Before she could speak however, Jaina quickly continues: 

 

‘Perhaps it’s an idiotic plan. I wanted to cook for you, the meal that you favored when you were still… in Quel'thalas. Maybe something you ate often with your family. Then, to have you enjoy it, you could possess me, and we could savor it together. The experience, the meal.’ 

 

Sylvanas’ hand slips from hers as she speaks. The elf walks around the bed, Jaina hears her discard her armor with the clicking of buckles and chinking of metal. She fell silent, anxious of the Banshee Queen’s answer, if she would get one. The room remained quiet, save for the  _ flop _ of Sylvanas’ weight onto the bed. Jaina had begun to think that the silence she recieved was an adequate mockery for suggesting such a dumb plan. Then, after a good few minutes of lying on her back besides Jaina, Sylvanas speaks:

 

‘No first or second courses. We didn’t do those in the Spire. Too little time and we didn’t like asking too much of our cook. Or from my mother, if she was home to cook. Our family was already quite sizable. Roasted tubers, roots like you’d find in the forests around the Spire, oven baked with some salt and nut oil. Wild rice, it was a mix of different kinds of grains… Let’s see, what else?’ 

 

Jaina’s mind raced to remember all of it, but she makes sure not to interrupt. 

 

‘Roasted wildfowl, glazed and baked until the skin is crisp. I believe I liked it with a glaze of honey, ground pepper and… a kind of dark sauce that was imported from the east. With the traditional honeycomb shaped bread, of course.  _ Hmm… _ we had cake too, sometimes. Alas I cannot remember what flavour I prefered. Have you fallen asleep, Jaina?’ 

 

‘No, not at all!’ Jaina’s voice comes out as a squeak. She coughed quietly while she hears Sylvanas chuckle. It wasn’t a fully fledged laugh, but the held-back sound from her nose told her that the elf was at least somewhat amused. 

 

~~~~~

 

The look she gets from the messenger as he delivers a small cart of ingredients to the Proudmoore Keep is near priceless. After politely thanking the stunned man, she has two servants drag the thing into the kitchens. It’s a huge room on the ground level of the keep. Brass pipes decorate the ceiling, stoves line the walls. For the meal she will be preparing, she will leave the gigantic oven used for feasts and the huge pans that can hold enough soup to feed a village. She has resigned herself to the smallest stove. And even that is one with six burners, four ovens underneath it and a rack with more cooking utensils than she knows how to use. 

 

‘Jaina! Did you order a cake from the cook? He says it’s for tonight!’ 

 

At the voice, she jumps and nearly bumps into the stove. ‘Tandred, don’t yell, please!’ 

 

She quickly walks up to her brother, who is eying the vegetables, bag of mixed-grain Quel’thalas rice and magically frozen wildfowl wings and legs on the counter. A look of suspicion and surprise paints his features. ‘Yes, it’s for tonight. Not for you tough, it’s for me and… my eh, partner?’ 

 

‘Thought she didn’t eat,’ Tandred says. He looks at the recipe book, open on the page “glaze for poultry wings and legs, wild and domesticated, as prepared by the high elves of Silvermoon”. ‘Didn’t know you could cook. You sure you’re alright doing this?’ 

 

‘Trust me, she’d kill me for less,’ Jaina admits. ‘But, I have resigned myself to this fate, dear brother mine. I will try not to burn down the castle. In the meantime, could you make sure that mother does not find out about the cake? She would walk in on me attempting to…’ 

 

_ To be possessed by a banshee and somehow not lose my mind _

 

‘... to cook. Yes, cook a meal for me and Sylvanas. She wouldn’t like it much, I fear.’ 

 

‘The cooking or your partner?’ 

 

Jaina grabs a ladle from the rack and raises it threateningly to her brother. ‘How about both?’ 

 

‘Okay, okay! I’m leaving. I’ll be on the lookout, at your service, Lord Admiral.’ Tandred has the guts to salute before he disappears in a flurry of coat tails and heavy footsteps. 

 

Content, Jaina sighs. The oven is heated, as she had requested. The pans are in place, the cookbook is open and the ingredients are all there. It’s a mystery to her were Sylvanas is, but as the afternoon will wane into evening, she knows that the elf will arrive eventually. With fresh hope and a lifted spirit, she begins measuring and weighing the rice. One cup rice on one and a half cups water.  _ I’ll make two,  _ she thinks.  _ That should do for me. _

 

The grains feel pleasant in her hands as she washes them briefly before depositing them into the designated pan. Then she turns to the recipe book and reads the instructions for the oven baked beetroots. At least, that is what the book calls them. Their Thalassian name is briefly mentioned, and she is not going to try to twist her tongue around it. When washing the remnants of soil off the roots, she hears a rush of wind behind her. 

 

_ Didn’t Tandred close the door?  _

 

As she turns, hands still wet from the water, she sees a dark smoky cloud filter into the room from one of the windows. Near the table, the Banshee Queen materializes. With a ranger’s quick glance, she spies the ingredients for the meal, the rice cooking away on the stove, Jaina standing near the sink with the requested tubers in her hand. For a brief moment, the dread cold in her chest rises, warms and makes way for a fluttering emotion that she does not want to define further. 

 

‘Come to help?’ Jaina cheerily asks. 

 

‘Well, since you seem to be in excellent spirits… I might as well watch you go about your business,’ Sylvanas deflects. The wildfowl she asked for is hovering an inch above the stone counter, preserved within arcane energy. A pot of honey, a bottle of the dark eastern sauce, it’s all there. She remembers bringing in the poultry herself, freshly shot, with Vereesa clinging to her ankles and asking when she was allowed to go hunt too. Then, in a moment of folly, she asks: ‘Can I… can I start now?’ 

 

_ The leader of the forsaken does not stutter, does not merely ask, does not prance around in a kitchen preparing food like some commoner, _ she thinks. But her mind, still in the woods of home, betrayed her before she could shut it up. 

 

‘Start, with what?’ Jaina’s voice is still insufferably happy. Her blue eyes are filled with joy, the dark circles under them seemingly lessened and erased for a moment. 

 

‘Your plan, the possession.’ 

 

‘Oh, that… yes, alright!’ Twirling on her feet, Jaina dumps the vegetables into the sink and dries her hands on her clothing. She is excited. Too excited, in Sylvanas’ eyes. ‘Where… How do we start? Where do you want to go?’ 

 

Sylvanas sighs.  _ I should have refused, no one should be this content with bearing my accursed power within their body _ , she thinks. Yet she murmurs, voice strained with conflicting emotions: ‘Somewhere you can fall. A chair or something similar.’ 

 

As Jaina’s eyebrows sink into a frown, Sylvanas sees the realization sink in.  _ Yes, it’s dangerous, Jaina. Painful, even. But you have a strong mind, it will hold.  _

 

They make their way to a chair in the corner of the room. It’s more a bench, really. But it has a brownish rough woolen blanket on it. Sylvanas finds herself wondering whether it’s soft enough, if Jaina were to fall. Anxiety, regret, fear even boils up in her chest. She clenches her hands into fists, and is startled when Jaina’s soft palms come up to her temples. 

 

‘You don’t need to be afraid, Sylvanas… it was my idea after all.’ She smiles a bit sheepishly. 

 

‘I’m not afraid,’ Sylvanas grinds. ‘Are you prepared?’ 

 

Firmly planting her feet into the ground, hands still on Sylvanas’ face, Jaina nods. Her awkward laugh makes way for a sincere smile. ‘Whenever you’re ready. I trust you with your abilities.’ 

 

_ Abilities,  _ not accursed powers. 

 

‘You don’t have to place your hands like that. The contact, it’s not necessary.’ 

 

‘But it’s nice, isn’t it?’ 

 

Jaina has closed her eyes, Sylvanas observes. Her breathing makes her body move nearly immeasurable amounts, but it’s there. The rhythm. The undead elf wonders how it feels, to breathe again. From so closeby, Jaina’s hair smells faintly of salt, the sea breeze. The gold streak seems much softer when she’s nearly pressing against it. Sylvanas licks her dry lips once, before leaning an inch closer. She calls upon the forces that allowed her to tether her broken soul to a magically preserved body. The memories wash over her the moment she severs the connection between body and soul, the latter erupting in a dark cloud from the corpse she inhabits. 

 

Pain, immeasurable pain, as the Lich King tore her away from the peaceful darkness of death. Silvermoon in ruins, streets red with blood. Not even a spirit that responded to her own wills. With the memories comes the pain, with the pain, the blinding fear. She is blind. For mere seconds, the only thing she feels is a warmth that attracts her. Before she is aware of her surroundings completely, she races towards that warmth, barely corporeal save for maybe her hands. The pain returns, sears her soul, then she doubles over, a dead weight falling in between her arms, unable to hold her up. She opens her eyes and scrambles to prevent the Banshee Queen’s body from slamming onto the cold stone tiles of the Proudmoore Keep’s kitchens. 

 

~~~~~~

 

She is only just able to hold on to Sylvanas’ body, which inelegantly crumples before her. The taller elf is slung half over her shoulder, with the added weight being enough to make her fall into the chair behind her. Jaina feels sick. Very sick. She attempts to lift her arm from Sylvanas’ shoulder, to press a cool palm against her forehead, but the hand won’t let go of the elf’s shoulder. It grabs it all the more closely, knuckles turning white. A wave of fear washes over her, further amplifying the sickness in her stomach. ‘Sylvanas,’ she says, again trying to move her unwilling hand. ‘Stop. It’s alright. I’m alright.’ 

 

_ We shouldn’t have done this,  _ Sylvanas’ voice sounds in her head. It gives Jaina quite the startle, but her body won’t jump in fear and surprise. She remains stiff, which strikes her as Sylvanas’ posture, not hers. 

 

‘We are doing it now. You agreed, and I am okay. A bit wobbly, but that will pass in due time. Now please, can I get control over my hand?’ Shaky as her voice, is she feels arguably more secure than the panicking undead elf messing around in her mind. 

 

Sylvanas relinquishes the control over her arm, and with it, her body relaxes. She drags the elf’s body up from her lap, standing up at the same time. Then she drapes it over the chair, legs more or less outstretched in front of her, right knee buckled more than the left. It looks like Sylvanas is sitting slumped in the chair, with one arm over the armrest.  _ Well done Jaina,  _ she thinks to herself.  _ Let’s hope that Tandred keeps mother out of here, or else she’ll be livid once finding this here.  _

 

As she wants to walk to the kitchen, where the rice in the pan is simmering in the copper pan, she is stopped by an odd stiffness in her legs. Uncertainty filters through her own thoughts, but it’s somehow distant. It’s not her own. ‘It’s alright, Sylvanas, honestly,’ she attempts to soothe the elf now inhabiting her mind. 

 

_ Let me walk,  _ is the only reply she receives, though the restlessness lessens somewhat in the back of her head. 

 

‘Ehm, okay then… you do the movements, I suppose.’ 

 

Legs that move on their own accord and a head that refused to look down in wonder. It felt strange to Jaina and became stranger still, as her face took on Sylvanas’ scowly expression, surveying the kitchen. She reached out to the cold marble of the counter and ran her fingers over it, lightly tapping with her nails on the stone. 

 

_ Belore, you are small,  _ the voice of Sylvanas sounds in her thoughts.  _ I never would have thought that you barely reach the counter with your chest. And your nails, they are incredibly short.  _

 

‘Not according to your preferences?’ Jaina inquires. ‘I hope I’m tall enough to satisfy you, oh Dark Lady with your lengthy physique.’ She feels her body halt before the sink, where she had left the roots. Nearly hesitant, faltering in their movements, her arms reach out to grab one. Reaching for the brush to the side of the sink to rub off the last traces of earth still clinging to the vegetables, her arm jerks towards the tap instead. She comes to a rough stop halfway in between them. 

 

_ Don’t you need to wash them?  _

 

‘Yes, but I need the brush for that. You don’t want to eat dirt, it gnashes in between your teeth.’ 

 

Her hand stubbornly reaches for the tap again, this time succeeding in bumping her hand painfully into the stone side of the sink. While shaking her fingers to get rid of the sting, she says, somewhat exasperatedly: ‘Let me get the brush, Sylvanas, please.’ 

 

The elf relents her control, so Jaina can get to properly cleaning the tubers.  _ Your hands are so fragile,  _ she comments. 

 

‘As is your temper.’ Jaina quips as she turns on the cold water, blissfully cool on her hurt fingers. ‘We are like two children bickering over a toy, except the toy in question is the control over my body. If you were to calm down a tad, I could cook in peace and you can enjoy it as well.’ 

 

_ Then you must allow me to cook too, I didn’t come in here just to watch you.  _

 

Jaina isn’t sure whether she means into the room or her body. Still, Sylvanas’ words surprise her. ‘So… you want to help me? By all means, but don’t accidently make me cut myself once I start with chopping the roots,’ she says. 

 

_ I will take utmost care with your fragile, tender human body, Jaina.  _ Even in her mind, she can hear the condescending smirk in the words. Jaina rolls her eyes. She can feel Sylvanas’ conscience pressing at the back of her skull, jittering around, never fully at peace. Yet it doesn’t take control of her hands again until she has washed the last traces of earth from the vegetables. Then her hand moves to the tap to turn off the streaming cold water, slightly faster than she wanted to. ‘I suppose you’ve been anticipating my movements, haven’t you Sylvanas?’ 

 

_ Naturally. Or perhaps your mind simply doesn’t work as quickly as mine.  _

 

‘You know I am trying to help you, right? If you wanted a picture perfect meal, you should have asked me to tell the castle cook to make it.’

 

Sylvanas’ conscience bristles in the back of her mind.  _ No. That wouldn’t… that wouldn’t be right.  _

 

‘It wouldn’t be as personal?’

 

A long pause follows. Long enough to make Jaina stop expecting a reaction. Then Sylvanas gives her a thoughtful hum. It’s not quite a sound of agreement, yet it’s not disapproving either. ‘Alright, let’s move on to the fritters,’ Jaina mumbles quietly to herself. 

 

Once again, she gets a snarky quip from the elf.  _ Fritters, Jaina, are fried. As is in the name. These are-  _

 

‘Oven baked, I know.’ Jaina whirls around in slight frustration, to where Sylvanas’ body is still slumped over in the chair. ‘Can you just go back to your body and wait until I’m done here if all you want to do is making annoying comments? Once again, I’m trying to enjoy both the process and the result of this endeavor, Sylvanas.’ 

 

_ Going back is not a reasonable option anymore at this point,  _ the Banshee Queen says, her voice suddenly stressed, nearly back to the fear she exhibited in the beginning.  _ Being possessed is one thing, my spirit literally  _ leaving  _ your body will be even more unpleasant.  _

 

She does stop with her snark. It leaves Jaina to cut the roots in peace. The rough texture of the peel is almost leathery, like a beetroot. When she cuts them in half, they’re firm, with an inside as if someone took a block of marble, white veins amongst deep red, yellow or purple flesh. The smell is somewhere in between carrots and beetroot. Her knife cuts them into thick, short rectangles. When she’s halfway through the portion her tongue suddenly does a disapproving  _ clack  _ that’s not her own. ‘Am I doing something wrong again, my blood elf expert of Quel’thalas cuisine? You can cut the rest if you’d like to.’

 

Resting her palms on the dark stone counter, Jaina waits for a response. Instead, the pressing at the back of her mind trickles from her neck into the very bones of her arms. They lift to their own accord, both startling and unnerving her. Yet she forces herself, the parts she can still control, to relax and take deep breaths as Sylvanas picks up the knife. Internally, she briefly realizes that that very same knife could end up in her gut just as easily as in the vegetables. 

 

_ Your mind is strong enough to resist me, should you want to. Perhaps you can even dispel me completely,  _ Sylvanas says, in a way that might be meant as assuring.    
  


Her cuts are quicker, firmer and more accurate that Jaina’s. The fries she makes are thinner and more even. Soon a little pile of multi colored fries lies on the wooden plank. Sylvanas steps back from the counter, giving the control to Jaina once again, who is glad that her partner seems willing to cooperate now. She scoops them onto a casserole and sprinkles them with sea salt and a dash of pepper. Into one of the four ovens under the stove they go. 

 

The next logical step is to make the glaze for the poultry. Jaina skims over the recipe. ‘There’s honey in this, there’s honey in the actual sauce for over the wildfowl, there’s honey in the bread I ordered as a side dish. You sin’dorei sure have a sweet tooth,’ she comments. ‘Maybe I should buy some candied apples for you next time.’

 

_ Already you have thought about a next time?  _ A sound like a chuckle reverberates through Jaina’s mind. She thinks she can hear a certain warm, fond tone in the elf’s words. Whether that is caused by the suggestion of a next time or the promise of sugary treats she doesn’t know. Once she has covered the cuts of poultry with a dusting of flour, she places them in a second oven for a ten-minute period. 

 

Sylvanas quietly explains that the glaze sticks better when the flour is toasted and moistened by the evaporating liquid from the meat.  _ My mother once told me about this, while I was plucking the feathers off the birds,  _ she adds, sadness seeping into her voice. Jaina can feel the elf’s tears pricking in her eyes, but Sylvanas steels herself, since they don’t flow over her cheeks.   

 

‘I hope I’m not making it worse,’ she says, already quasi-apologizing. 

 

Her body heaves with a deep sigh that’s not hers.  _ No… far from…  _

 

The slight smile that lights up her face could belong to either one of the consciences in her mind. After measuring the right amount of honey, she licks the back of the spoon, lest she waste the expensive delicacy by carelessly washing it away in the sink. 

 

Sylvanas gasps roughly. The spoon clatters onto the ground from Jaina’s shaking hand. She clasps one hand over her mouth, tongue swiping over the roof of her mouth to catch more flavour. For quite some time she stands there, half of her mind trying to urge the other half to move her body. Eventually she pries her lips apart. ‘Are you alright?’ is the first thing that she can blurt out. Has she done something wrong? Is Sylvanas hurt? Worry quicky overtakes her, only to be countered by a wave of content, excited and even  _ merry  _ feelings. 

 

Sylvanas’ voice sounds lighter, nearly bubbly when she says:  _ sweetness, for the first time in years. I suppose it’s a good first taste.  _

 

‘I’m glad you’re starting to see where I want to take this experience.’ Jaina bends down to pick up the fallen spoon. After quickly chucking it into the sink, she turns to the bowl in which she was mixing the sauce. The salty eastern sauce will be added next. When she has measured the correct amount, Sylvanas suddenly takes control of her arms. 

 

_ Let me _ **_,_ ** she curtly says, before filling another small spoon. 

 

Jaina assumes she likes a bit more salt on the poultry, and doesn’t attempt to stop the elf. Then she empties the spoonful into her mouth, swallowing the very salty liquid. Jaina starts coughing, all the while protesting and cursing the banshee. ‘Sylvanas! Why? Oh, Tides, why?’ 

 

_ Your plan was to let me taste, I believe. I am merely making use of the opportunity.  _ Sylvanas rights up her, or rather Jaina’s, body. The Lord Admiral’s eyes flick to the spicy sauce next to the measuring spoons, under the elf’s control. 

 

‘Don’t you dare!’ Jaina shrieks before bursting into a fit of laughter. In the middle of it, she hears a different kind of laughter mix with hers. Not bright and brash, coming from her chest in loud bursts. It’s rather subdued, more akin to a snicker, nasal and from between her teeth rather than through an open mouth. Sylvanas’ laugh, unheard of for years. She is also the first to stop, letting her partner catch her breath, before returning to the mixing of the glaze. 

 

They take turns in cooking. Sylvanas glazes the pre-baked wildfowl, quickly and measured. Jaina dims the fire beneath the rice, opening the lid and releasing a cloud of steam into the kitchen. As the poultry is baking crisp in the oven, they can take a little break. Jaina conjures a warm mug of Blackrock coffee. 

 

‘Do you like anything in it? Milk, sugar?’ she asks Sylvanas. 

 

_ I don’t enjoy milk in the coffee, but a good spoonful of honey…  _

 

‘Naturally, your preference for honey slipped my mind.’ Jaina stirs a good dollop through the coffee. ‘How could I, since everything we will soon eat is just about soaked in it?’ 

 

Usually she doesn’t drink her coffee black, but the honey helps with the bitterness. Sylvanas seems to thoroughly enjoy it. She gives off a pleased  _ hmm _ every time Jaina takes another swig of coffee. Absorbed in their moment as they are, neither one of them notices the door opening. 

‘Jaina! The cook has finished-’ A rather upbeat Tandred suddenly turns pale as he enters the room. His eyes go from Sylvanas’ body in the chair to Jaina at the kitchen counter several times. 

 

Jaina feels her face shift through a multitude of expressions in a few seconds. Sylvanas’ distasteful scowl, her own surprise, then the banshee’s shock and a futile attempt at a smile that could be from either one of them. 

 

‘Brother mine,’ she says, but it’s laced with her partner’s silken drawl. Her gait feels off, since it’s Sylvanas’ stride. 

 

‘I’m terribly sorry, Tandred!’ she tries as she gets control over her legs again. ‘Is… is the body… a bit much?’ 

 

The same awkward Proudmoore laugh comes from both siblings. Tandred nods slowly. ‘I’m not sure if I completely understand what you’re doing… but I do think you need to move it, before mother finds it here.’ 

 

‘That would be most unfortunate indeed,’ Jaina agrees. ‘Let’s carry her to the couch in my rooms upstairs.’ 

 

_ Let’s not, before that oaf drops me. _

 

‘Oh quiet you, he’ll be careful.’ 

 

Tandred gives her one long, confused look, before he picks up the Banshee Queen’s empty body, bridal style. Her eyes narrow, not entirely her action. The entire trip to Jaina’s chambers, even though they go through a hidden corridor, she spends either nervously jittering on her feet or suspiciously eyeing Sylvanas’ body in her brother’s arms. When Tandred deposits it on the lush green couch, she is quick to move the arms and legs into a somewhat comfortable position. A pillow under the elf’s head is added too. 

 

_ That… you didn’t have to do that,  _ Sylvanas says.  _ Both of you. The carrying and the pillow.  _

 

Wanting to avoid confusing her brother even more, Jaina just quietly sighs and smiles.  _ We are wed, Sylvanas. Whether that is in mutual love or not, I should at least try to make your stay in Kul Tiras comfortable. Through what we’ve been doing this afternoon, through simple acts like this,  _ she thinks. If Sylvanas can hear her thoughts, she does not answer, though Jaina thinks to hear a small noise of contentment in the back of her head. 

 

When the Proudmoore siblings have made their way to the kitchens again, Jaina spots a plate, covered with cheesecloth on the counter. Tandred clears his throat. ‘Ah, yes. That’s why I was here, to tell you that the servants were about to bring you the ca-’ 

 

‘Thank you, Tandred!’ Jaina flashes her sweetest smile, hoping to conceal the surprise for a moment longer. She shoots the most knowing look at her brother, who slowly nods. 

 

‘Alright then… I’ll leave you to it, Jaina. Hopefully mother doesn’t catch you with what I think you’re doing.’ He leaves the kitchens. 

 

_ I wonder what he thinks you are doing, _ Sylvanas muses.  _ Regardless, I think the food is nearly done. I can already smell the wildfowl in the oven.  _

 

‘Excited to get started?’ Jaina briskly asks while opening the oven and taking out the golden-brown, perfectly crisp poultry legs and wings. She arranges them on the plate, forming a half circle around a steaming heap of rice, with a small pile of roasted vegetable strips to the side. Her breathing picks up speed, mostly likely Sylvanas’ doings. One of the small, honeycomb-shaped loaves of blood elven bread adorns the edge of the plate, precariously close to falling off. 

 

‘How does it look?’ 

 

Once more, her body takes in a deep breath. She reaches out to the plate, yet stills her hand and says, Sylvanas’ lilting voice intermixing with her own: ‘Very good. A lot better than… in the Spire, when we, me and my sisters, used to see who could make the tallest stack of fries. It usually resulted in a huge mess on the plates. And Lirath giggling tremendously.’ 

 

Jaina laughs brightly at the mental image it provokes. She takes a plate in each hand and begins to walk up to their quarters. ‘I thought it would be best to eat upstairs, mother will wonder why I’m not dining with the family if she catches me in the kitchens.’ 

 

When she has set the plates on the table near one of the windows in the spacious tower suite, her eyes linger a touch longer on the food. She can feel Sylvanas’ excitement, and that long look at the plate was definitely her doing. A high crystal flute with sparkling wine from Quel’thalas completes the meal. 

 

After a brief moment of doubt, she sighs deeply, relaxes her body as much as possible and says: ‘I will let you take the reins now. It’s your meal, after all.’ 

 

~~~~~~

 

Sylvanas approaches the table, ceremoniously slow. Jaina’s body fits her disjointed spirit a lot better than the monsters the Lich King made her possess. Even though her form is considerably smaller when she sits down in the plush seating of the chair. Despite the fact that her hands, which aren’t lifeless grey like her own, seem fragile in comparison when she picks up the silver cutlery. Her eyes aren’t quite as sharp as an elf’s when she gazes out the window, to the darkening streets of Kul Tiras, and the purple sky above the sea. Sylvanas tears her eyes away from the outside and cuts into the prepared poultry. 

 

The crisp, browned skin gives way with a satisfying noise. Deliciously savory smells waft up to her nose. She twitches Jaina’s face into all sorts of small expressions, shifting from one emotion to the other at a rapid pace. Anticipation, hesitation, enthusiasm, it all crosses her mind as she brings the first bite to her mouth. The crunch of the crispy skin only serves as a prelude to the explosion of taste in her mouth. Sweet as the honey, salty from the dark sauce, spicy, with an underlying taste of poultry. Sylvanas chews, slowly to savour the experience. With the taste, memories of home bubble to the surface of her mind. 

 

_ ‘Alleria, don’t attack the food like a troll. Vereesa stop jeering and kicking your sister under the table. Sylvanas… Belore, Sylvanas hurry up with the water can, it’s not made of porcelain!’ Lireesa Windrunner scowls over the family table. Vereesa’s wide grin slowly fades from her face as she pouts and stares down at her food.  _

 

_ Sylvanas, who hasn’t shed her ranger leathers still, pours water for the family. ‘Leave some honey for me, Lady Sun.You’re taking all the sauce,’ she says in her elder sister’s general direction.  _

 

_ A long day of training has exhausted her. But she is stronger than the year before, and the year before that too. Nearly strong enough to shoot an arrow from the immense draw of her mother’s bow. As they have tested today.  _

 

_ ‘Mum, Alleria is taking all the sauce!’ Vereesa echoes, looking to Sylvanas for confirmation.  _

 

_ ‘Soon you’ll have three parrots at the dinner table,’ Alleria says in between mouthfuls of food. She waves a saucy hand to Lirath’s cot, where the child is sleeping soundly despite the chatter of his sisters.  _

 

_ ‘Sylvanas, do not encourage your sister, please,’ Lireesa says, pinching the bridge of her nose.  _

 

_ ‘I’m not doing it! It’s the… you know, we’re the moons! Lady and Little Moon, always reflecting each others’ light.’  _

 

_ ‘Sylvanas!’  _

 

‘Sylvanas… Sylvanas, are you crying?’ Jaina’s concerned voice cuts through the memory. While an undead cannot cry, the strain of the memory, the food and Jaina’s cares throughout the day are enough to spur tears from Sylvanas. And today, she has a body capable of expressing the sadness. Her tears drop onto the plate and table, while her shoulders heave with sobs. Jaina lifts the left hand, the one that’s not holding a fork, to carefully wipe away the tears. She cannot speak, due to her throat being clenched by sadness, but through little gestures she gradually calms the elf down. A soothingly cool hand on her forehead, another bite of wildfowl, now with a good chunk of rice. Slowly but surely, Sylvanas’ sadness fades. 

 

It makes way for ravenous hunger. She grabs one of the bird legs and bites into it. Her teeth aren’t as sharp as she is used to, but the meat tears all the same. The roasted vegetables are gone in minutes, the rice disappears just as quickly. As she cleans the last of the sauce off her plate with the final chunk of sin’dorei honey bread, another long forgotten feeling returns. Fullness. Satisfying, warm fullness in her stomach. 

‘God above, do I feel stuffed,’ Jaina says, all of Sylvanas’ mannerisms gone from her voice. She leans backwards in the chair, giggling to herself about the success of her plan. Then she slowly stands up to wash her hands. 

 

‘Do elves usually tear apart poultry wings with their bare hands?’ she asks. 

 

_ Mother strictly forbade it,  _ comes Sylvanas’ voice, sounding brighter than it ever did.  _ It might have been part of the reason why the meals always seemed to take ages when the entire family was together.  _

 

When Jaina looks into the bathroom mirror, she sees why. There is sauce smeared all over her mouth and chin. A single grain of rice sticks to her upper lip. Breadcrumbs adorn her collar. There are greasy spots on her shirt and even one on the knee of her breeches. ‘Truly a spectacular meal, wasn’t it? You were quite voracious.’

 

_ Given the circumstances, the quality of the food and the company… voracious is a grave understatement.  _ The chuckle her body gives is a short spurt of breath through her nose, as only Sylvanas can do. 

 

‘Then we better hurry back to the table. I didn’t order a slice of cake, with the recipe hailing all the way from Silvermoon, for nothing.’ 

 

~~~~~~~

 

The plates are empty, the crystal wine glass too. Jaina looks out over the city, hands idly in her lap. She has nearly dreamt away, tracing the last lines of reddish sky where the sun sinks into the sea, when Sylvanas speaks up in her mind. 

 

_ Shouldn’t we end our escapade soon? Talking to you is truly easier when I am my own body.  _

 

‘Don’t you want to sleep?’ Jaina asks thoughtfully. Can that be a possibility? If eating is, why shouldn’t sleep be an option for the Banshee Queen, when she is possessing her. 

 

Sylvanas hums, deep in thought. After a minute or so, she concedes.  _ Alright, but perhaps we will wake up in seperate bodies, exiting your spirit would be easier for me anyhow, when you’re asleep.  _

 

They stand, Sylvanas swinging her right leg over the left to spring to her feet while Jaina tries to slip off the chair by moving both legs sideways first. They stumble, and barely remain standing. After a quick and dual apology, Jaina mentally sighs and prepares herself for the task of dragging Sylvanas’ empty body to the bed. 


End file.
